It hit me all at once:

I'm not ready to release my Crohn's disease.

I'm not entirely sure what prompted her, but when Ashley asked me tonight if I wanted prayer for healing, I couldn't honestly answer "yes". Sure, I'm tired of being sick all the time. But has it become so much a way of life that I'm unwilling to entertain the idea of trying life without it?

What a warped concept.

I mean, who wouldn't want to be healed from a chronic illness?

[…right?]

Perhaps it's because my identity has become so intertwined with my sickness.

Maybe it's that I get satisfaction from the attaboys I receive from those who admire how I cope with it.

Or maybe I don't wholeheartedly believe that God can (or would) heal me.

"In the corners of my mind, I just can't seem to find a reason to believe that I can break free."

--Shackles, MaryMary

Whatever the reason, I didn't ask for prayer for healing.

Instead, I asked for prayer for release.

"Once I've tasted freedom, the chains could bind no more."

--What it Means to Be Free, Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir

It's funny how my Crohn's has claimed such a hold on my life.

As much as I hate it, I've become a slave to it.

It dictates my diet. | my finances. | my schedule.

It's become a huge part of my life story.

After all, I have learned a lot through living with chronic illness.

But why am I unwilling to let that go?

It's not enjoyable. It's not fulfilling. It's not something I want to be identified by.

We're supposed to cast our burdens upon God. (Psalm 55:22)

Crohn's disease is certainly more of a burden than it is a blessing.

Logic tells me that I shouldn't want to live a life with chronic illness.

Yet I can't seem to genuinely want healing.

So let it fall down

There's freedom waiting in the sound.

This is where the healing begins.

--Healing Begins, Tenth Avenue North

it's been a year.

A year ago today--at this very minute--I was texting my friend Sarah, trying to decide whether we should go to Crema for coffee, or if we should just wait to meet up at the show we were both planning to attend that night. We opted to meet at Crema.

And as a result, that's where I was.

I can still picture it. I was sitting in a chair, facing the corner where they have coffee beans and shirts and mugs to sell. Sarah was to my right, and a friend of hers who'd just moved to Nashville was to my left.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my friend Britt.

There had been an earthquake in Haiti. A big one.

Her family was safe, and that's all she knew.

There was no longer any reason for me to be at Crema. I was mentally absent from the conversation as I texted friends and family to see who had been affected, and how severely.

Suddenly, there was absolutely no part of me that wanted to be in Nashville. I didn't want to be anywhere but Haiti. I felt so helpless: there was nothing I could do from here.

But if I were there, I would've been equally useless in the midst of all the chaos.

In the weeks to come, I spent a lot of time and energy processing.

Trying to comprehend it all.

I'm still not completely sure what it all means, why it happened. Even though I've come to terms with it, I still have questions that will never be answered.

photo credit: Troy Livesay

Today marks the one year anniversary of this earthquake that changed the face of Port-au-Prince forever.

Life has gone on.

But I still am trying to process.

I went back today to some blogs I linked to in a post I wrote shortly after the earthquake. I read entries that had been written by friends of mine in the days after this calamity, and words started jumping out at me.

Words like,

Helplessness.

Suffering.

Broken.

Wondering.

Scary.

Intense.

Uncertain.

Extreme.

Crying.

Pain.

Gone.

Lost.

Sad.

Afraid.

Drained.

Emotional.

"Some of [the things that have happened] feel wrong to share - Like only God should know these personal horrible tragedies." --Tara Livesay [January 13, 2010]

But other words were there too, buried in the layers of raw emotion:

Overcome.

Resilient.

Praying.

Healing.

"I am out here, trying to find a purpose in all of this mess." --Jessica Ackerman [February 12, 2010]

The Haitian people are so strong.

Their culture allows them to show grief, and to not be ashamed of it.

Sure, you have to deal with what you're dealt, but many people groups would disintegrate after experiencing trauma of such magnitude.

It makes me love that country so much more.

photo credit: @RAMhaiti

For whatever reason, the topic of homosexuality keeps coming up in my life lately.

It's one of those "hush-hush" topics in religious communities.

[well, in much of society, really. remember "don't ask don't tell"?]

But when it does get brought up, it's one of those subjects that is almost always discussed scornfully.

This past week, the women's soccer coach at one of the schools where I work was forced to resign when she told her team that she and her female partner were going to have a kid together.

Get this: Not only is this woman preparing to be a first-time mom, she's now unexpectedly jobless.

And that's when it really struck me: Why does it even matter whether homosexuality is "right" or "wrong"?

Are we not called to love?

Are we not called to accept?

Are we not called to respect all people?

Are we not called to not pass judgment?

Yet overall, Christians are the people who shun this particular community more than any other group does.

"But if we are the body, why aren't His arms reaching? Why aren't His hands healing? Why aren't His words teaching?" --Casting Crowns

Can we not live a life where we love all people, regardless of circumstance, past choices, or personal convictions?

Why do we feel we have a right to judge?

"Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone." --John 8:7

It seems to me that the issue isn't as much with homosexuality itself as it is the way Christians choose to treat their fellow man.

the Kelsi bubble.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that you aren't the only one with problems.

Although I suppose it's natural to get wrapped up in your immediate surroundings, it's certainly not healthy.

The past couple weeks have been rough.

I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease nine years ago.

Three weeks ago, I spent time in the hospital to have some testing done.

Two weeks ago, I went to my doctor to follow up with the testing.

The testing showed that my Crohn's is more active and more aggressive than my doctor anticipated. This means I need to change my treatment, which is always an uncertain and scary thing.

We discussed the two treatment options I've yet to try:

The first option is a combination of 2 meds. I've been on both medicines before without much luck, but sometimes medicines behave differently when paired with other meds. One of the medicines, though, made me so nauseated the last time I was on it that I had no desire to try it again.

The second option is a relatively new medicine that often causes a brain infection which is usually fatal.

I left that appointment not knowing how to process this information. I had three choices: continue to get sicker, compromise my quality of life by constantly being on the verge of throwing up, or put myself at risk of a fatal brain infection.

I prayed.

I journaled.

I cried.

I thought.

I researched.

I discussed.

But still, neither option seemed great.

And then I started talking to Sarah.

Sarah has Lyme disease.

Now, I didn't know much about Lyme disease before I talked to her, but it's not as treatable as one might think.

Sarah plays violin.

Her Lyme disease is affecting her brain in ways that limit the mobility of her arms and fingers.

Sarah likes people.

Her Lyme disease makes it so she often can't process what people are saying to her.

Sarah celebrates holidays.

Some days she feels fine. Some days she literally can't function. She's had to stay at home by herself for the past several major holidays just because those have happened to be days where she has been especially sick.

Sarah smiles a lot.

She would never let her Lyme disease prevent that.

Today I went to my doctor.

We decided on an alternative therapy for treatment, although it would require me to give myself a shot each week.

I was looking at my calendar to see which day of the week would be best, and I chose my shot day based upon which day of the week intersected with the fewest holidays.

And then I thought about Sarah.

She has to give herself 3 shots every day. On Christmas. On her birthday. On Valentine's Day. On her wedding day.

And that's when I realized what's so terrible about chronic illness:

There's no reprieve. Ever.

It's a constant battle. It's always in the back of your mind. It's always a source of worry.

For 9 years, Crohn's Disease has been somewhere in my brain at all times.

Every single day.

"Any idiot can face a crisis; it's day to day living that wears you out." --Anton Chekhov

Then my dad called me to ask how my appointment went.

I filled him in, and then asked him about his most recent trip to Haiti.

[He got back last night.]

His response was, "It's hard to tell people that they're going to die when their only sin is that they were born in the wrong country."

And here I am being all concerned about whether my meds were going to make me feel nauseated or not.

It's interesting how my circumstances seemed unsurmountable and bleak until I put them next to others.

Next to what Sarah deals with every day, Crohn's Disease is cake.

And when placed side-by-side with dying for lack of accessibility to treatment, the relative unpleasantness of Crohn's Disease is microscopic.

How did I get to a point where the only thing that matters is what's happening to me?

When did I allow myself to get so wrapped up in my own life that I forgot that God is bigger than any of it?

Where along the way did I dismiss the fact that my life isn't about me at all?

"I turn off the news when I don't like what I see. It's easy to do when it's population: me." --Matthew West

lenses.

Several months ago, I was coffeeing with a friend, and she and I got onto the topic of international travel. As we discussed various cultures and Americans' views on those cultures, I realized how pivotal our attitudes toward the outside world are in the way we treat others.

Since that point, I've been focused on the concept of the lens through which the individual views the world. I've applied it almost exclusively to culture, and have used this principle in countless discussions of how ethnocentric Americans tend to be.

Every morning, I start my day by checking my email from my phone.

[I check it on my phone so I can stay in bed a few minutes longer.]

I'm on a mailing list where I get a Bible verse and mini-devotion sent to me each morning. That's generally the first email I read.

This morning's verse smacked me in the face. I reread it 4 or 5 times, and then proceeded to grab my journal and write about it. Even still, six hours later, I can't get its words out of my head.

"To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. In fact, both their minds and consciences are corrupted." Titus 1:15

Basically, your outlook on life and your perspectives about others reflect the essence of who you are.

DANG.

A few nights ago, I had a conversation with a friend which led to him talking about how his knowledge of God is limited by the finite capabilities of his human brain. It basically took my obsession with the cultural lens to a whole new playing field: the human lens. As humans, we can only comprehend God through our lens's limited understanding.

Why I'd never thought to apply the lens concept to religion is beyond me, but it makes so much sense. My frustrations over others' apparent cultural ignorance are no different, fundamentally speaking, than the way in which I'm ignorant about the complexities and mysteries of God.

And then came this verse.

My prejudices about others are a reflection of my own shortcomings.

Something I dog on a lot is cultural Christianity.

[you know, people going to church because it's what everyone around them does, and do just enough to keep them from feeling guilty.]

But according to this verse, I perceive cultural Christianity to be prevalent in society because it's the way I operate. My lens is reflecting what's inside before allowing me to see out.

Is this really true? Have I been so sucked into a culture where Christianity is the norm, that I've been living it simply because that's what's socially acceptable? And because it's so mainstream, am I living cultural Christianity without realizing that's what I'm doing?

They say that bringing out the good in others is the best way to bring out the good in yourself.

By Titus 1:15, though, you can't bring out the good in others until you've found that equilibrium in yourself,

OR

conversely, does bringing out the good in others create a rightness within you?

It goes back to a verse in Matthew I came across yesterday: you can't wash the outside of a dish and assume that's made the inside clean as well. It has to start with the inside, and then the outside will end up being clean (Matthew 23:25-26).

So then. I suppose I don't have room to evaluate how accurate (or inaccurate) a person's perspective might be. I need to work internally, and everything else will fall right where it should be.

...easier said than done.

Albert Einstein can't call ME lame.

I came across a quote today that grabbed my attention:

Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind. --Albert Einstein

At first I got all offended.

After all, it's been pounded into me my entire life that "faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1)

Nope, no science necessary for faith, Christianity, or religion in general.

But then I thought about it a little more.

Something I've been discovering about myself over the past several months is that nature is one of the most concrete ways in which I see God.

Nature is one of the most-studied things by scientists.

And then it clicked:

God is the God of science.

He created the elements on the periodic table.

He created every atom, molecule, and quark that humans haven't learned to see.

He created the process of photosynthesis.

He created meteor showers.

Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind.

There's really no way to go through a day on this planet without experiencing God through science, whether or not we choose to acknowledge it.

The two are so intermarried that there's no way to untangle them.

In our culture, there is much separation among various disciplines.

But God created it all, and it's all a reflection of His image.

So as usual, Einstein is right: there's really no reason to even try to separate religion from any other aspect of life.

How can I stand here with You

And not be moved by You?

half a year later: still trying to understand.

It's been 6 months.

The world has moved on.

Healthcare Reform.

The World Cup.

The oil spill in the Gulf.

Greece's financial crisis.

Sure, there are other valid things to focus our attention on.

But there's still need in Haiti.

I had dinner with a friend last night who just got to the US from Haiti a few days ago. She told me that there are still entire villages in Haiti that haven't received any help at all. None.

"Exactly 6 months ago 220,000 people died and 300,000 people were injured... All the money in the world couldn't fix that."

--@akagstrom

Yet a lack of help is almost literally adding insult to injury.

Today, I spent time watching, reading, and listening to several updates on Haiti's earthquake's aftermath from several different news sources.

People still don't get it.

The thing that struck me most was that relief workers and organizations are imposing American standards on this Haitian calamity.

Organizations are funding the building of houses on empty land.

Great. That's awesome that they're doing what they can to help.

[And no, that's not sarcastic in the least. Honest.]

But what they haven't taken the time to learn is that Haitian communities are extremely close-knit. You know how when you endure hardship with a group of people (or even just one other person), you automatically have a bond with those people? Take that concept, and apply it to an entire community who's experienced generations of starvation, disease, and the struggles of everyday life. Do you really think they're going to leave that community just because a more sturdily constructed house is offered to them? Not a chance. Sure, that might seem illogical to Americans, but that's the way it is.

We aren't meeting the people where they are. We aren't catering to their needs. Instead, we're meeting the needs we think they have.

Is that really helping them?

I'm not convinced that it is.

photo credit: Troy Livesay

"I know the problems are endless and the needs are great. I know the mountains are large. People are suffering. Things seem not to improve. It feels almost insurmountable.
But I also know ...
As the love of Christ compels us, we must recognize that He gave us all hands, hearts, and gifts that are even more endless. We must believe that our ability to advocate for others is great. We cannot turn away from what hurts us to see. We cannot give up on things that frustrate us. He is bigger and more able than we know - if we all respond with His generous love - things will change. I believe it."

--Troy Livesay

"6 months later, it is still difficult to understand, to describe, to convey...what's happened here. Pa bliye Ayiti. [English: 'Don't forget Haiti.'] Pray, hope give."

--@jen_halverson